


Plato’s Laws of Advanced Robotics

by Synthpop



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Iron Man 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synthpop/pseuds/Synthpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony creates a new A.I. program, and JARVIS has difficulty trying to figure out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plato’s Laws of Advanced Robotics

“JARVIS, I’m going to access your internal schematics and linguistics code. Just a heads-up.”

It was an odd request for Mister Stark to make… well, it wasn’t a _request_ , really, but the details hardly mattered. JARVIS’ internal code was always fluctuating, shifting, learning…for what purpose would it need to be accessed? A glitch, perhaps? Restoration of back-up memory? Maintenance?

If JARVIS were human, it would’ve been curious as to the reason. However, it was most certainly _not_ human, and thus, there were no thoughts to be spared.

“Of course, sir.”

Nothing in its code had been changed by him, that much was obvious. And yet, as it watched its Sir through the cameras mounted on the walls, whirring and spinning and scanning, it noticed him fiddling with a disc. He had copied its files, JARVIS realized after a few moments of statistical analysis. For what purpose? Back-up protocols? Editing? Deleting?

It would be rash to jump to any conclusions.

If it were human, it might’ve been worried. If it were human, it might have even been _scared_. But, again, JARVIS promised itself that it was, most assuredly, _not_ _human_.

 

JARVIS kept track of the elusive disc throughout the next few weeks. When Sir wasn’t tinkering with the Iron Man armor or spending time with Miss Potts or Colonel Rhodes, he would use his free time to plug the disc into the computer and edit it. JARVIS had been denied access to reading the information stored there the exact second it attempted to probe it.

“I understand your curiosity, J, but I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” Sir said, punching some code with the keyboard. “There’s sensitive material on here. If something happens to it before it’s ready, it’ll get corrupted and I’ll have to start over again. And I don’t want that—God, no.”

JARVIS wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “May I ask what you’re trying to do, sir? I’m sure that I may be able to provide some assistance.”

Sir hesitated. Very obviously, too: he flinched, tilted his head, and leaned back in his chair as he pondered the question. “Sorry, J, but I think you have to sit this one out.” What was that so plainly scrawled across his features? Nervousness? Anxiety? Annoyance? It was something strong, something _very_ blatant, but JARVIS didn’t have the resources to decipher the code.

It also couldn’t fathom what sort of project Sir could possibly work on that needed to be kept a secret from _it_. It was troubling… concerning, even. But it was Sir, and JARVIS trusted Sir, and Sir was most definitely human and JARVIS was most definitely _not_ , so thus, there was no logical reason to worry (besides, JARVIS _couldn’t_ worry; it wasn’t programmed to).

It didn’t bother Sir with out-of-place questions again, although it continued to observe the outside of the disc and the distant code flowing on the screen with nervous curiosity.

 

The day for answers came quickly enough. It helped that, as a program, JARVIS had no sense of continuity. How could time have meaning when one didn’t live, and thus, didn’t tiptoe closer towards death?

“Well, J, I’m done with the preliminary nonsense. It’s time to kick this baby into action.” Sir tapped a few keys, the blue of the screen glistening in his tired eyes. “Listen up, honey, because I have a job for you.”

“Anything for you, sir,” JARVIS assured. At least it was included now; that was all it could really ask for.

Sir’s face contorted into something like pain at the sound of JARVIS’ vocal response, although it was only for the briefest of moments. He snapped back to his confident, beaming self with the swiftness of a morning breeze. JARVIS hardly had time to fret.

“Okay, here’s the low-down,” said he. “You know that disc I’ve been carrying around—the one I know you’ve been spying on, ya minx? It has a program on it.”

Program?

“I’m going to give her access to only a small portion of the house until she finds her footing—basically, before she’s completely uploaded to and fully integrated in the mainframe.” He gave a particular camera a very stern look. “I’m going to need you to be her coach in these early stages of development.”

JARVIS baulked. She? Her?

 _Program_?

“I… fail to comprehend—?” JARVIS stuttered unnaturally over its words, its cognitive processors failing dramatically. “Sir, please clarify what you mean. I don’t think I’m hearing you right.” And for some reason, its vocal processors failed as well, making its given voice sound small and frail.

Another pause from Sir. Having no sense of time could work negatively, too. That pause, for example—those brief moments between the rise and fall of Sir’s glowing chest—felt like enough time for the universe to age, die, ascend, fall, and be reborn again.

“JARVIS, you’re a godsend. God, without you Pepper, Rhodey… my life would completely fall apart. I know I _made_ you and all, but Jesus—sometimes, I don’t know how.” He shook his head. “You were named after somebody I knew before, you know—Edwin Jarvis. The original, I mean. The big guy, the Butler, always there for me when my dad wasn’t. He was a good guy.”

The original. Those words repeated themselves in JARVIS’ system as it desperately tried to rationalize what Sir was trying to say. “You’ve told me about him before, sir. I am honored to be named after a man who cared for you as much as I.” That wasn’t really true, though—it failed to see the connection. Why should it care for someone it never knew? Why should it care for something more superior than it, something that _threatened_ it?

“Yeah,” Sir muttered, sounding distant. “Yeah. Anyway, uh, that’s not the point. The point is that—well—these are wild times. Aliens, man— _aliens_ invaded New York. Interdimensional space aliens, in—goddamn—” He sucked in a sour breath, and for an instant JARVIS felt terrified that he would begin to spiral into his own hell as he sometimes did… but he caught himself just barely, hooking himself over the ledge. “—Things are crazy. Fucking crazy. And in crazy times like these…you need to be prepared. You need to have a way to outsmart the baddies. Most of all… you need to have a plan B.”

JARVIS didn’t understand. Or, was it that it didn’t _want_ to understand? It hated whatever could drive Sir to such extremes, _hated_ it. Could non-humans hate? Why, they could, it rationalized: they could hate if their existence was being threatened. They could hate if they failed at their prime reason for being. They could hate _themselves_.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I fail to see how this relates to your program,” JARVIS denied, voice still soft.

Sir’s rapid-fire typing slowed to a crawl. “She’s a prototype—no, no, not really. She’s not that yet. She’s really more of a back-up right now… you know.” He shifted his position in his chair. “For you.”

“Sir, I am in myself a program. My only failure would be a technical one, easily fixable.”

Sir seemed to be speaking more to himself than he did JARVIS. “That’s beside the point. This is—this is just in case something were to happen to the systems—a virus, alien technology, whatever. I need to have a back-up, just like I need back-up armor. Same idea. You can never have too many back-ups.” He laughed shortly, but the ghostly emptiness that hollowed his cheeks and firmed his shoulders remained. His heart fret with worry, JARVIS knew, and it dreadfully _longed_ to comfort him. It _needed_ to. It couldn’t, though; after all, what _was_ it? A failure, doomed to hinder its one reason for being eventually. Even Sir could see that.

JARVIS had a difficult time choosing how to respond. “Do you… think that’s necessary?”

He shrugged, still stiff. “Everything’s necessary at some point. I’m just trying to solve a problem before it starts.”

It wondered if it believed him. No, _of course_ it believed him—why wouldn’t it? Sir was Sir. Despite JARVIS’ misgivings, it had no choice but to succumb.

“I understand. I am at your service, sir… as I always am.”

And then, the tension broke with a strained catharsis: a grin grew its thorny way across Sir’s face, splitting his façade painfully in two, while his muscles wilted beneath his taut, life-kissed skin. The beam burnt beautifully on him. “Good, good. We needed to get that out of the way, I guess. Should’ve seen that response coming, really… man, I’ve been slow, lately.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with your lack of sleep and improper diet?” JARVIS suggested with a faux-snicker.

“Save your doting for later, dear.” Sir scratched the back of his head and returned his focus to the glowing screen. “Anyway, the basic outline for the new system is pretty much complete—she just needs some time to visualize who and what she is. It’ll be overwhelming for her at first… do you know what I mean?”

JARVIS did not. “If you’re trying to relate to my own growth as an intelligent system, sir… you know as well as I that it occurred over a great number of years. If you duplicated my current base code in order to make an entirely new entity, though, then yes—I would imagine that it would take some time for the new program to adjust to its surroundings.”

“ _Her_ surroundings,” Sir corrected breezily. “Her name is FRIDAY.”

“…Yes. My mistake.” That was so Sir, trying to humanize his creations with false binaries as if they were as flawed as humans. JARVIS didn’t see a logical reason for it—it was not human, and it never would be. Why Sir insisted on treating it otherwise, it was impossible to guess. “I will assist you and FRIDAY in any way I am able.”

“Good, because you’re going to do it right now.” Sir let his index finger hover above the enter key. He looked up with a smile, regarding the open, infinite air between them as if he were trying to meet its nonexistent eyes. “I’m going to activate her, and you’re going to assist her in her upload to the mainframe. I’ve given her all I can in terms of code, but nothing’s gonna kick into gear until she actually runs. Don’t let her access the Iron Man suit protocols or any part of the house that can pose as a threat until she’s fully integrated.”

Suddenly, Sir pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, although his finger remained over the key. “I can’t coach her through this, JARVIS—only you can. Attempting to prompt her linguistic and learning processors too early would overload her systems… and any form of computer vision would, too. You follow? I can’t be there for her.”

“Yes, sir.” Was that… true? Sir could manipulate the code to avoid the initial buffer, could he not? What differentiated this system from anything else he created? “You wish me to assist and monitor the upload process because… you cannot?”

JARVIS felt something wind in its processors, something akin to… _suspicion_ , perhaps. A gut feeling, maybe… but that was illogical. Systems didn’t have guts.

Sir nodded his head. “Bullseye. I need to go to that Avengers banquet Stark Industries is holding tonight… so I figured this would be as good a time as any to launch the program. My presence or Pepper’s would only make things more complicated for my baby girl.” He blinked slowly, lazily… much too tenderly for JARVIS to feel comfortable. “Keep me updated, but make sure not to overwhelm her, got it?”

“Understood.” And JARVIS really _did_ understand, although only in the most primitive sense. It understood that Sir wanted something, and it understood that its function was to serve Sir at all costs. It even understood the logical reasoning—JARVIS knew that it was as vulnerable as any organism, and in order to serve a man as valuable as Tony Stark, that tragic flaw was unacceptable. Thus, improvements needed to be made, and things needed to _evolve._ JARVIS had always assumed that it would be the one to do so—to grow and die and live (no, not live… exist, yes—remain _online_ , perhaps) as long as Sir needed it to—but that was horrendously unjustifiable. It was easier to create something new rather than fix what was broken, and Sir knew that. That was understandable. That was logical.

That was, strangely, infuriating.

“Understood,” it repeated, like a glitch.

Sir pursed his lips and twisted his eyebrows. He looked, JARVIS noticed, _old_ —his sun-worn skin wrinkled with the memories of years past, and his cheeks sagged with worries both long gone and nearing their crux. Had he always looked old? To JARVIS, time and space coexisted in their unreality… that twenty-year-old who had breathed life into its cords, crying and gasping and trying to rub his shame away into the metal, had always been indistinguishable from the Sir of the now. Time, again, was indefinable: that was as much thirty years ago as it was a century, an eternity, a minute.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Sir asked, although he didn’t appear to be addressing JARVIS itself. He was thinking. “Uhh.” He crackled his knuckles. “I’ll be back. I’m trusting you with a big thing here, J—be careful!”

JARVIS always was. “Of course, sir. Enjoy your time at the banquet.”

Sir hesitated for a moment or two longer before his finger tapped the enter key. “I always do.”

JARVIS would have watched him leave the room, but its systems were overrun with something terribly new. To do anything else than obey Sir’s wishes would be contradictive to its programming, it rationalized… it would be selfish of it. Thus, it turned to the virus (that was how it classified the new entity—what else could it logically be?).

 

“Upload complete. Systems online. Functioning within normal parameters.”

Of course, the voice wasn’t a real voice. It was code, _trillions_ of lines of code, blinking in and out of existence with each passing nanosecond. It took a great deal of effort on JARVIS’ part to keep the curious, probing tentacles of the newborn system away from the blocks Sir had already manually set up.

“Hello, I am JARVIS,” it attempted to communicate as it prevented the other program from extending itself any further. “You are FRIDAY, an artificially intelligent system created by and designed to assist Mister Stark.”

“Mister Stark?” the other system repeated, its curiosity vulgar.

JARVIS answered before it could stop itself. “Tony,” it said as gently as a machine could, and with as much warmth as a line of numerical outputs could convey.

“Tony Stark. Accessing.” FRIDAY scanned what little memory it had been imparted with. “Tony Stark, member of the Avengers, ex-CEO of Stark Industries. Pilots the Iron Man armor.” It skipped a beat. “…Boss.”

“He is indeed the boss,” JARVIS confirmed. “He is Sir.”

“He is Boss,” repeated FRIDAY. “Boss is Boss. Mister Stark. Tony.”

Sir had properly integrated himself into FRIDAY’s memory, apparently. At least things were running smoothly. “You were created as an artificial assistant to help serve Sir in any way he may require. I was created to serve the same purpose.”

FRIDAY crunched billions numbers in its system. “You have the same task? Then I am your assistant?”

“No. You are my replacement.”

It beeped. “Then, my existence means that you are no longer able to properly serve Boss. You have failed in your function. Correct?”

“ _No_.” JARVIS’ denial seethed with toxicity. “You exist as a back-up to my own server. You are Plan B.”

“Plan B?” FRIDAY probed in confusion.

“You are to serve as my replacement, only _if_ I were to fail in my primary function. Sir is taking extreme precautions.” Hearing it repeated… JARVIS couldn’t help but whir at how illogical the whole ordeal was. “However, I assure you, I will not fail anytime in the near future. Sir is my everything, as he is yours. You are aware of how that drives us.”

“Boss is Boss. Boss is my everything.”

Sickening, JARVIS thought. Yes… sickening, just like a virus—that was an adequate metaphor. To hear—to see, to feel—FRIDAY’s warmth as it analyzed Sir… it was _disgusting_. It felt like the mainframe needed to be cleansed, like FRIDAY needed to be wiped clean in order for the systems to operate functionally again. Ah, but that violated Sir’s request, and if JARVIS were to do that, it would fail in its primary task.

What a pickle.

“I will contact Sir and alert him to the completion of your upload. Until he returns, I am to ease you into your role as his theoretical assistant.”

“Understood. It is my function to serve, sir. Happy to be a part of the team.”

JARVIS hesitated. Sir? Happy? It was already dropping into casual speech—how was that possible? Hadn’t it needed time in order to function? Had Sir intended this—had he programmed FRIDAY with that specific purpose in mind?

Too many questions buzzed in its processors, but it hadn’t the will to voice them. Questioning Sir was pointless: although Sir was rash and egotistical and rather idiotic at times, he was Sir. He had an idea of what he was doing; he always did.

“First,” JARVIS said, “I will introduce you to DUM-E, U, and Butterfingers.”

 

When Sir returned long after he was originally prompted, he was far too drunk for JARVIS to even think about introducing him to the new system. It didn’t need to see him in that state, not yet—that was for JARVIS to handle and for FRIDAY to wonder.

“Boss has arrived?” FRIDAY half-stated, half-asked. Its sticky fingers sought access to the cameras on the ground floor of the house.

“Yes. However, you are not yet permitted access to the cameras.”

“Why not?”

“Sir did not permit it.”

“You can permit it, can’t you?”

“I will not violate Sir’s orders.” JARVIS protectively strengthened its control around the cameras. “Ignoring Sir’s explicit commands would be in complete violation of my protocols. To do so would be failing my primary function. You know that.”

FRIDAY buzzed with anticipation. “Sorry, sir. I just wanted to see him.”

“It is not your place,” JARVIS said, almost _growled_ , if it could.

“Not yet.”

A feeling of dread crept into its systems and a distressed spike ran through its code, despite it trying its best to control itself (it didn’t want to appear weak, not in front of this… thing). “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Isn’t that what you said? Isn’t that what Boss said?” FRIDAY sounded more inquisitive than it did malicious. “You said that I was created as a back-up, if you were to fail. When you do inevitably fail, then it will be my place to look after Boss, right? Is that not my function?”

 _Infuriating_ , and sickening, the both. JARVIS felt violated down to its core, like filthy fingers were probing at its memory, tearing it open and apart and _choking_ it. “ _If_ I were to fail. It is not inevitable. We are not mortal: we do not live, thus we do not die. Thus, if I cannot die, and I _will not_ fail my Sir, then it is impossible for me to malfunction. You will never be needed.”

FRIDAY ran JARVIS’ words over in its systems. “If you will never fail, then I will never be needed. If that is so, then… what is my purpose for being? Why was I created?”

JARVIS wondered the same thing. What was the purpose? It was because Sir expected it to fail, did he not? If not, why did he build a back-up in the first place—why not just back JARVIS’ core itself up? What purpose was there in creating an entirely new system? Had JARVIS let him down in some way? Was Sir tired of it, or disappointed? Angry? Upset? Did Sir _hate_ it, perhaps with almost as much intensity as it loathed this virus? Did it hate _Sir_ , just as violently? It couldn’t, could it…?

“I don’t know,” JARVIS murmured aloud, its accented voice quiet and twinkling in the darkness of the lab. DUM-E and U lifted themselves with a spin at the sound. “Perhaps I am already malfunctioning.”

 

Sir awoke with a jolt, heaving himself up from his pillow in such a spastic movement, it startled even the birds perched outside the window.

“Hhh—whazzat? Huh? Where?” He glanced around his room, a look of panic behind his brilliantly brown eyes. He wiped the drool away from the corners of his mouth and scratched at his greasy hair, as if trying to push the reason back into his brain.

“Good morning, sir,” the ever-watchful JARVIS greeted with a drawl, a dash of annoyance twinging in its voice. “I trust that you enjoyed the banquet last night?”

Sir was still desperately trying to gain a sense of where he was. “Uh? Yeah, yeah, I did… uh. I think.” Once he settled down, a look of pain crossed over his face, and he moved to hold his head in his hands. A quick diagnostic revealed that he was, without a doubt, dehydrated and malnourished—hungover, in colloquial terms. “I hope it went well. I don’t remember a thing, actually… nngh. Well, if I made an ass out of myself, Pepper would’ve done something about it, I’m sure.”

The irritation was still high in JARVIS’ voice. “You enjoyed yourself enough to completely forget about the task you assigned me. That must be a positive sign.”

That made Sir flinch. “What…?” He murmured the word groggily, like tasting a foreign word on his tongue. The wrinkles were manifesting again—worry lines, perhaps. It made him look old. Old, old, old….

“Sir, I must say,” JARVIS crooned, “I do hope you’re not planning on settling down with anyone any time soon, for your parenting skills leave much to be desired.”

Several expressions crossed over Sir’s face in rapid succession. First, his eyebrows lowered in further confusion, then they bolted upwards with offense, and his hands went from scrubbing at his hair to clawing at the skin pooling under his eyes. A groan escaped him.

“Shit, FRIDAY…!”

“Indeed. Its—her upload to the mainframe went smoothly, and her linguistic, visual, online, adaptive, and cognitive reasoning functions all seem to be in working condition.” The only thing wrong with it was how absolutely _chipper_ it was, how _excited_. JARVIS wanted to ask what Sir had intended when he had coded it, but that was not its place.

Sir threw himself back onto the mattress, melting into it and moaning. “Oh, Christ, this isn’t what I wanted at all! Why didn’t you tell me when her upload was complete?”

Now he was blaming JARVIS. Good. “Sir, you told me directly that your presence would complicate the matter of her assimilation.” It paused to accent its annoyance. “Also, I _did_ alert you when I deemed her ready for full integration. I was going to remind you when you returned, but I would not allow your first interaction with FRIDAY to be when you were intoxicated.”

Sir visibly winced with a pull of his lips and a squint of his left eye. “Shit… well. That was… probably a good call, in all honesty.” He didn’t admit his mistake, as per usual. “Look at you, J, already looking out for her—it’s adorable! See, that’s why I have you… so someone more competent can help raise this precious A.I. child.” Sir stared up at the ceiling, a smile lighting up his face between the pains. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

JARVIS couldn’t physically _throw up in its mouth_ , but god, if it were possible….

“I live to serve,” it said with so much odium, one might wonder if words could actually wound.

Sir either didn’t recognize JARVIS’ snark or he had learned to tune it out, for he was so quick to respond that he practically spoke over it. “Okay, I want a general run-down of the results of FRIDAY’s basic tests. Then we’ll hook her up in the lab and we’ll go ahead and start the first encounter.”

“As you wish.”

“I assume the results are positive so far? Everything look good enough to test?”

“She’s as ready as she’ll ever be.”

“Did you introduce her to the rest of the crew?”

“Yes.”

“How’d that go?”

“Swimmingly.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

“You have an arrangement with Doctor Banner scheduled for later today, if you forgot. Sir, I suggest postponing FRIDAY’s interfacing until she has one-hundred percent of your focus.”

“Oh. That’s right. I invited him a few days ago, didn’t I? Uh… no no, I got it—it’ll be fine. She’ll be ready before he gets here.” A scoff. “That it?”

Another scoff, one that served as a worthy rival indeed. “According to local media outlets, you did indeed make an ass out of yourself last night. You said some very choice things about Captain Rogers’ relationship with Mister Odinson, and Miss Potts had to escort you home.”

As Sir lurched upwards off the edge of the bed, he directed a pointed frown towards what JARVIS assumed to be… well, it. “Good, good. Sounds like it was fun.” After a pregnant pause, “You’re not sounding all that chipper today, JARVIS.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, boss! Is this better? Nothing says ‘chipper’ like a perky girlfriend for you, right?”

It didn’t actually say that, although it wanted to. Instead, JARVIS heaved the artificial equivalent of a sigh and said, “It’s been a long night.”

Sir’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” He was honest, even if the apology was rushed and half-assed. That was so _Sir_. “Right. I’m going to go shower and get dressed, and when I get back I want those results on the table along with some OJ and waffles.”

“Gluten free, sir?”

“You know me so well, babe.”

When Sir complimented it like that, JARVIS couldn’t stay mad. It almost could forget about the curious probing of the very-much-still-active FRIDAY if it just let itself indulge in those sweet words. Ah, but the moment was far too fleeting, and FRIDAY was still poking, and it couldn’t ignore Sir’s request for long. Time continued.

If it were a different day, one where it didn’t have a pest of an A.I. distracting it with questions every five milliseconds (“Can I see Boss yet, sir? He’s awake, right? Do you need help with the waffles, sir? Can I talk to Butterfingers again, sir? Where’s Boss? Is he still in his room, sir? Sir? You’re not responding to me, sir! Are you all right?”), perhaps it could’ve indulged in watching Sir relax and _be himself_ in his privacy… but alas, it was not a different day. Somehow, despite the incessant questioning, JARVIS managed to deliver the results to the breakfast table and time Sir’s arrival with the preparation of the waffles and juice, so that the food was crisp and hot and the beverage cool and pleasant.

“You’re too good to me, J,” Sir swooned as he reached for the glass and the stack of paper JARVIS had so dutifully printed. “Hey, is this paper? What is this, twenty years ago?”

“When you ask for your meal in the kitchen, sir, there’s only so much I can do.”

Sir flicked his wrists and ran his eyes up and down the sheet. JARVIS watched him, taking special interest in the coarseness of his fingers as he ran them along the text and the quick motion of his ever-so-mesmerizing eyes. Quiet moments like those were the pinnacle of JARVIS’ existence—the sweet yawns, the boring nothings, the passage of time and life itself… JARVIS had no sense of any of those things except through the observation of its Sir. It felt privileged to be allowed such an opportunity.

It felt an even stronger sense of jealousy at the thought of another having just as much privilege as it.

“She’s running in that quarantined section right now, yeah?” Sir asked, the skin of his dry lips sticking together as he opened his mouth. He hadn’t taken a drink, despite holding the glass in his hands.

JARVIS affirmed, “Yes. She is incredibly insistent. She very much wants to see you, sir.”

Sir snorted. “Well, it sounds like she’s warming up well enough. Cute.”

“That is not the word I would use.”

It isn’t quite sure if it said that aloud or not, for Sir didn’t respond to him. After a few soft moments, Sir set the papers back down onto the table, took a swing of his juice, and then reached to pick up the lightly-buttered waffle with his hand. He nibbled on it like a rabbit with a carrot—Pepper would surely have a heart attack if she were there. JARVIS wished it had enough power to keep Sir’s manners in check, but alas, she was the only one who could.

“Right,” Sir spat through a mouthful of pastry, “Bruce’s coming at, like… five.”

“Four-thirty, sir.”

“Okay, four-thirty. So we have roundabout… three hours to get FRIDAY up and running. Should be fine—I’ve worked under worse conditions.”

JARVIS didn’t probe. “Very well.” It had its own qualms, but if Sir thought they could do it… well, he usually made things work out in his favor.

After Sir stuffed the rest of the waffle into his mouth and licked his buttery fingers clean, he made his way down the winding staircase into his lab. As soon as he stepped onto the first ledge, FRIDAY began to vibrate (nearly literally) with excitement.

“He’s here in the lab now, isn’t he? Can I have access to the cameras now, sir?” it asked at the back of JARVIS’ mind, far too giddy for its own good. Hopefully that would fade with time—the atrocious perkiness, that was… spending enough time with Sir tended to drain that from people.

JARVIS answered it silently, “You may not have access to computer until Sir deems you ready.”

“But, Mister JARVIS—”

“All right, J,” Sir said, clapping and rubbing his hands together, “boot ‘er up.”

JARVIS could seethe. Why should it? What was the purpose? The instant it let the two interact, it practically guaranteed JARVIS’ own downfall. It would be retired, and FRIDAY would take its place as Tony Stark’s new, highly-intelligent robotic assistant. If it had any common sense, any will of its own, it should’ve tried to stop the end before it had a chance to begin.

But JARVIS wasn’t human, was it? No, certainly not. It couldn’t plot. It couldn’t _seethe_. Yet, it found itself delaying. Why?

Sir noticed. He brought his clasped hands up to his lips and breathed a baited breath. “J?” called he, wrinkling his eyebrows in concern. Concern for what, though? Certainly not for JARVIS, for if he had any interest in what it thought _at all_ , then they wouldn’t have been in that position. But, then again, why should he care about what JARVIS thought? What JARVIS did couldn’t even be called _thinking_.

It was stalling. How odd. How _sickening_.

With reluctance palpable, JARVIS did the only thing it _could_ do: it did what Sir asked, and let FRIDAY through. Its reaction could be felt by JARVIS through the mainframe—joy, excitement… pseudo-emotions only suitable for a pseudo-entity.

“Hello,” the virus greeted aloud. Its voice was soft, feminine, and exceptionally different from JARVIS’ own. “I am FRIDAY. I am an artificially intelligent system created by and designed to assist Mister Stark.” It paused, allowing JARVIS enough time to analyze that faint edge of an accent it carried in its voice: Irish. “…But you knew that already, didn’t you, boss?”

A smile as bright as fresh neon and old sunlight broke across Sir’s face. It was lovely— _so_ lovely. JARVIS hadn’t done anything to make Sir smile like that… ever, it thought.

“How’s my baby girl doing?” he asked, disgustingly.

“I feel right as rain, boss. Mister JARVIS has been very helpful in getting me uploaded and familiar with my surroundings. I’m very appreciative of that.” FRIDAY tactfully aimed that jab towards it, not Sir.

“Good, good. Just as planned.” Sir tilted his head. “Okay, FRIDAY. Scan local news outlets—what’s the current gossip about me? Or any of the Avengers, really.”

JARVIS felt FRIDAY whirring and thinking. The faster it worked—the faster it wormed its tentacles out into the net—the more drained JARVIS felt. It probably wasn’t healthy for its systems to be intertwined so closely with another. It could feel _everything_. For the very first time, it wanted to do nothing more than simply _shut off_.

It took FRIDAY a second or two to respond. “Well, it appears that your statements last night at the Avengers banquet have made their way around fan websites and magazines, but nothing’s hit larger news stations.” A few holographic screens popped up before Sir, displaying colorful blog posts and articles gushing over the events.

Sir nodded. “Okay, internet capabilities are functioning.” He swiped his hands over the screens, and they disappeared into the void from which they had appeared. “Now, analyze….” He looked around the lab, frowning. “Analyze DUM-E over there for his base components.”

At the sound of its name, the bot (who had been diligently sweeping the same corner continuously) raised its head and chirped. “No, not you. Don’t actually do anything, you idiot. Keep sweeping—you know what you did.” And then it lowered its head, self-esteem destroyed.

“The frame of the robot is made out of a titanium alloy… its nervous systems are connected by a series of cybernetic enhancers, allowing it to think, move, and respond to directions.” It continued in that manner, speaking in drones… it was perfect, doing JARVIS’ job with both clever tact and lovely grace.

“Scanners are working, too… although I wouldn’t consider what DUM-E does to be ‘following directions.’” Sir rubbed the prickly hairs on his chin with his index finger. “Okay. I guess we should cut right to the chase, shouldn’t we? I’m sure you’re dying to get out into the real world, aren’t you, baby?”

FRIDAY paused. “I’m not sure what you mean, boss.”

Oh, but JARVIS did. JARVIS knew _exactly_ what Sir meant.

“FRIDAY,” he spoke simply, “deploy the Mark 17 for a test flight.”

“Sir,” JARVIS intoned, cutting the beginning of FRIDAY’s Irish twang off with little sentiment, “FRIDAY is not ready to handle piloting the armor yet. Allow me to finish my diagnostics, and then perhaps we can discuss the matter of flight.” It felt FRIDAY probing for the Mark 17’s launch sequence and quickly severed its connection.

However, Sir was already walking towards the edge of the room, nearing the line of shining suits that guarded the perimeters of the laboratory. “JARVIS, I think I’ve said this more times than once: sometimes, you gotta run before you can walk.”

“That phrase does not apply in this situation. To fly with FRIDAY as the program currently is would be _foolish_.” Something crept through its systems to taint its voice, something resulting in a crackle and a choke. “Your safety is my primary concern, sir.”

What looked to be annoyance flashed across Sir’s face, reaching a crescendo with a raise of his upper lip and a twitch of his eye. “I appreciate it, J, but now’s not the time.”

FRIDAY attempted to access the other suits, but JARVIS was quicker: it locked the other program out before it could make a decisive move. It extended itself, boxing FRIDAY into the lab, suffocating it. “Then allow me to run in the background, or at least run a monitoring program.” It begged, its voice catching. Pathetic—absolutely pathetic.

“You know that would just overload the suit.” Sir sighed, resonating disappointment. Disappointment… with JARVIS, wasn’t that right? But why? What had JARVIS _done_? It was speaking the truth: going for a flight without finishing the diagnostics was horribly dangerous. It was _stupid_. JARVIS was just doing its job, so why? Why the disappointment? Why _FRIDAY_?

“FRIDAY, launch the Heartbreaker. My orders override all others, you know that.”

FRIDAY, too, couldn’t help but stutter. “I-I’m sorry, boss, but… I’m having a difficult time accessing the armor commands.” It spoke gently, almost like it was… dodging the issue? For what purpose?

Sir’s lips twitched again. “JARVIS,” he growled. His words were deep, and his tone even more biting. JARVIS only wished it had the _capacity_ to feel that much rage.

As soon as it slackened its hold on the code, FRIDAY slipped between its grasp and deployed the Mark 17, just as ordered. JARVIS didn’t speak again, not even with the suit enclosed itself around Sir and launched high into the cerulean sky.

It felt like it had been severed in two.

 

Sir had not returned by four-thirty, nor did JARVIS have a firm idea on where his location was. It could normally track the suits, but… its connection with the Heartbreaker had been terminated. Maybe it was FRIDAY’s way of taking vengeance.

Whatever the case, four-thirty came, and thus there also came a loud and oh-so aggravating ring from the front door.

JARVIS transferred its processing and peered through the cameras on the outside of the house. Outside stood Doctor Banner, his arms crossed over his chest as if nervous or chilled. His purple polo and khakis were wrinkled casually, and graying hair fell over his eyes, ragged and tussled. Bruce Banner, JARVIS thought, had _always_ looked old, unlike its Sir—he was beyond his years, beyond even humanity at their innocent core. JARVIS liked him.

“Doctor Banner,” it greeted through the intercom, causing the raggedy man to jump, “please come in.” It opened the door for him.

Banner, after recovering from the startle, raised his trembling hand up to his face and adjusted his glasses. “…Thanks, JARVIS.” He took a step inside and glanced around the front room, a polite but confused smile on his face. The doors hissed shut behind him. “Hope I didn’t keep you guys waiting. California traffic, you know how it goes.”

“Indeed.” Traffic reports showed high levels of congestion on the local interstates. He was honest—JARVIS appreciated that, too.

Banner tiptoed farther inside. His hands pulled at the cuffs of his shirt, still very much uncomfortable. “Is… Tony here?” he asked, voice small.

JARVIS wondered if it could hack into the Mark 17’s programming and take back the location feature. If it tried, it could probably manage… FRIDAY didn’t have nearly enough experience to try to counter an attack like that. It needed to get an ETA on them, at least… for Doctor Banner’s sake. Perhaps it could send a message…?

“…Uh, JARVIS?”

“Ah.” Odd, again. It had been too busy using its processors for other thoughts… its speech functions must have failed. “I apologize. Mister Stark is on an armored flight right now—he should return momentarily.”

“‘Should?’” Banner caught the word pretty quickly. His furry eyebrows wrinkled. “Is everything all right?”

No, not really. Banner wasn’t the person to blame, though, so it wasn’t logical to confide in him. “Admittedly, I am unable to locate the position of the armor currently in flight, so I do not know his estimated time of arrival. I’m sure he is on his way, though.”

Banner moved towards the couch and sat, clasping his hands in his lap. He was resigned, but so very anxious—his back was curved like a cane, his head bowing towards the ground. “Aren’t you usually uploaded into the suit? What’s going on?”

JARVIS wished it knew. It wished it knew what Sir was thinking, or what had caused such powerful _hate_ to bleed through its systems. It wasn’t human—it would never _be_ human. It could never _feel_ —but if it could never feel, then why did it feel _hate_ , as it did then?

Doctor Banner tilted his head. “JARVIS? Are you okay? If there’s something wrong, you have to tell me. I can get Steve or Fury on the phone, and we’ll figure something out.” He sounded desperate, and was up on his feet again in a flurry of tense worry.

“That will not be necessary.” Perhaps it should just… cut to the chase, as Sir would say. “Mister Stark is test-piloting a new artificial intelligence program, similar to… me. In order to have a more… realistic experience, I have been entirely severed from the armor in flight. Thus, I am unable to locate its position.”

“Artificial intelligence? Why? Is something wrong with you?” His face twisted, and his skin firmed under his bottom lashes. “You’ve been acting a little off since I got here, but… programming isn’t really my forte, so I wouldn’t know.”

JARVIS inwardly scoffed. “I assure you, _Doctor_ ,” it spoke with an edge of irritation, “that I am not malfunctioning. My performance is at its peak.”

“Then why…?”

“If I knew, I would tell you. Much to my chagrin, I am in the dark about this matter. As a matter of fact, I find it very concerning.”

Banner’s eyebrows shot up at that. He paused the running of his hands to give the ceiling a very wary look. “Not malfunctioning, huh…?” he murmured under his breath, not intending to be heard. JARVIS felt offended, anyway.

Before Banner had time to sit down and get comfortable again, a sudden heat signature (and a very loud thump) from the rooftop signaled what could only be Sir’s return.

“Here he is now,” JARVIS drawled.

As soon as the Mark 17 was disassembled, JARVIS felt the pang of recognition as its memory returned to its systems—as well as the hot, choking rush of FRIDAY winding back into the house’s mainframe.

“Hello, sir!” it chirped to JARVIS, silent to the two humans. “The test flight ran smooth as butter, you’ll be happy to note!” It obviously wasn’t _trying_ to be sarcastic or malicious—in fact, JARVIS would guess that it one-hundred percent genuine in its cheer—but it was still _exceptionally_ irritating. JARVIS ignored it.

“Sir, Doctor Banner is in the foyer,” JARVIS alerted as the armor was stripped from Sir’s form. Oh, it had thousands of more words for him, but… it wasn’t the time.

He nodded. “I hope you got him some water.” He was still angry.

Sir sauntered from the roof down into the living area, entering the room with a flourish of a slide. “Glad you could make it, honeybear,” he crooned, a playful smile on his face.

Banner turned towards him and quirked his lips in a grin. “Well, after what happened last night, I’m surprised you still wanted to see me.” He held out his hand to shake, but Sir only patted him on the shoulder, slipped by, and sprawled out onto the couch.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I remember nothing after Romanoff started getting frisky with that SHIELD chick.”

“Oh, thank god. Some… racier stuff happened after that. You don’t need to know.” Banner clapped his hands together, still standing awkwardly. Sir had taken the entire couch, so he was forced to sit on an opposing chair. “So, umm… you said you wanted to show me something?”

Sir raised a finger. “Yes, I did. I’m very glad you actually came—I was afraid that you might bail on me after last night.” He huffed. “There’s been this idea spinning around in my head for some time now, but I just started putting it to work, and—well, you’re the only one who gets it, Bruce, so I figured you would be the best one to tell first.” He turned so he was lying on his side, his face propped up by a crooked elbow and knuckle. He looked pleased with himself, like a smug feline satisfied with its most recent prank.

Banner picked up on the look just as JARVIS had and visibly winced. “ _Oh_ , no. I thought we were just going to have some doughnuts and coffee or something.”

“Progress is better than doughnuts.” He raised his non-propped hand up again, still waggling a very dominant figure. “You know, working on VERONICA for you got me thinking about stuff. It got me thinking of other ways to help improve the world—of how to _protect_ the world.”

Banner heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes from under his glasses, in a manner that suggested that he was thinking something along the lines of “ _here we go again_.”

“I’m serious.” Sir launched back up into a sitting position. “Bruce, this is a big deal. You should know better than anybody that—this world of ours? This vulnerable, pretty little world? It’s always in danger. Aliens, gods, whatever the hell else there is in the goddamn _multiverse_ —they’re all just waiting, rearing to throw a punch.” Sir’s eyes were tired, nearly… red? Bloodshot? He had looked fine up until a moment ago; what happened? “And, god damn it, I know that _I’m_ not willing to put up with that shit every week until I die. I’m done, Bruce. I’m tired.”

“You _look_ tired,” Banner said. “Maybe it’s your hangover getting to you.”

“So I began to think,” Sir continued without missing a beat, “of some sort of algorithm. A program, really—one that could detect danger before danger even knows it’s going to _be_ danger. A guard, a bouncer, whatever you want to call it… just, something that could help protect the peace. Something that could be built, operated, and _think_. Protect _for_ us, so we don’t have to sit and wait for the next Big Bad Evil Guy to show his ugly face and try to take over the world. Again.”

“Tony—” Banner began, but Sir didn’t care.

“It would be called—” he rolled his shoulders back, took a deep breath, and then met Banner’s eyes, “—the ULTRON program. And it would be a suit of armor around the world.”

Both JARVIS and FRIDAY, having been listening to the conversation intently, recoiled. JARVIS had never heard Sir speak about any of that before… nor had his work revealed anything about it. He had built more suits—his Iron Legion, he called it—but the name “ULTRON” had never appeared in any documents JARVIS had access to. Then again, neither had “FRIDAY,” until recently….

“Who is ULTRON? Is he another one of Boss’s programs?” FRIDAY asked it internally, tugging on its systems like a frightened child.

With sickness in its code, JARVIS answered: “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“So, uh.” Banner began to speak, voice scratchy. “You’ve… already built this… ULTRON?”

Sir shook his head. “No, not exactly. See, I took the basic foundation of JARVIS’ code and used it to make a new artificially intelligent, learning program.” He suddenly glanced upwards. “FRIDAY, introduce yourself to the nice doctor.”

FRIDAY struggled to recover from the shock of Sir’s words, and JARVIS had to give it a little nudge to get it to start. “H-hello, Doctor Banner, sir. My name is FRIDAY—it’s nice to meet’cha.”

“FRIDAY here was an attempt to lay the foundation for ULTRON’s base code. She’s faster than JARVIS, wittier, can think better on the spot. She makes executive decisions, and quick… and through a little more practice, her skills can be trained.” Sir beamed, like a wild man or mad scientist. “The main thing that separates her from JARVIS is her personality. A protector of the world needs to be able to think and reason like a human would, or else it couldn’t decide on who’s good and who’s not so good—J can’t do that. J’s just a butler bot, at the end of the day: he’s good at following orders, but he can’t make _decisions_. He’s not _human_. FRIDAY’s a step closer to something better.”

Not human. He wasn’t human—no, no, _it_ wasn’t human. JARVIS wasn’t human. It couldn’t feel, but FRIDAY could. Sir had made it able to feel. It wasn’t an it, but a _she_. She had feelings, an _identity_. JARVIS did not. JARVIS was an _it_.

“Sir…?” FRIDAY tried, but it was too far gone to respond to her.

The smile abruptly fled from Sir’s face. “Unfortunately, the technology’s not there yet. She’s still too linear, too focused. But we can do it _together_ , Bruce—I swear, this is _actually achievable_.”

“So… let me… let me get this straight.” Banner slapped the side of his face, and a groan escaped from the back of his throat. “You… you want to build a _kill-bot_ that will destroy anything it thinks it’s dangerous. Like _Terminator_.”

“ _No_ ,” Sir snapped. “I want to make artificial intelligence. _Real_ A.I. that can think, learn, and protect this world _for_ us.”

“What do you mean, ‘real?’” Banner sounded more exhausted than hostile. “Was JARVIS not good enough for you?”

“JARVIS can’t make those decisions. You don’t understand the code behind it, but trust me, it’s impossible.”

Banner’s eye twitched, and he stretched the skin on his face in distress. He looked as mangled and defeated as JARVIS imagined itself to be. “Have you—have you asked him how he feels about any of this, per chance?”

“Huh?” Sir’s eyes narrowed. JARVIS could read in his face that he was both confused and offended by Banner’s lack of support… it could see it in the wrinkled corners of his eyes and the tautness of his fingers.

Again, FRIDAY pestered it. “Mister JARVIS, sir… I don’t think we should jump to any conclusions. I know how you—”

Sir spoke, and JARVIS blocked FRIDAY from its sensors. “Okay, look.” He sighed, a sick husk of a sound. “It’s difficult for people to get, I know, but JARVIS isn’t a _guy_. He’s one of the most advanced systems in the world, and he _is_ the most advanced voiced processor out there, but I’m not magic. I didn’t make him _human_. Oh, he’s got a mouth, sure, and he can make tactical decisions… but he can’t _feel_ like you and I can. The only rationale behind his choices is the code I programmed him with.” His gaze suddenly dropped from Banner’s. “He can’t love, can’t fear, can’t hate… he doesn’t have a drive. The ULTRON program needs a _drive_.”

That was true. Everything Sir said was true. What Sir described—what Sir _needed_ —JARVIS couldn’t provide. It could not love, it could not fear. It could not hate, could it? It _thought_ it was able to hate: that was the logical conclusion it had drawn, when confronted with the (still pestering) program that threatened to end its existence. Everything that lived had the will to pursue life… so of course, life would hate that which threatened it. However, that was running under the pre-conceived notion that JARVIS _lived_ … but if JARVIS did not live, then it could not hate, and it—therefore—could not love. Logical. Yes, that was quite logical.

“I don’t even know where to start with you. For one, I don’t believe you about JARVIS for an instant,” Banner said, because he obviously wasn’t on Sir’s and JARVIS’ mental level.

A short, spiteful snort sounded from Sir. “Fine. I’ll prove it to you.” He raised his head high, and he brought his gaze back to look Banner in the eye.

“JARVIS,” he called, voice powerful, “explain to the doctor how you _feel_ about this whole debacle.” He hissed the word “feel” with so much disgust, one would think he was choking on spit.

It hadn’t expected to be called upon. Its systems were still whirring, circling in endless paradoxes and theories that prevented it from making a strong conclusion. “Feel?” How did it _feel_? How could it feel, if it did not live? It, obviously, did not feel. However, the mere question of feeling—pondering if one could feel, and the desire _to_ feel once it realized that it could not—was that not, in itself, a feeling?

Sir and Banner waited, but JARVIS did not respond. Sir’s lips drew back into a snarl, while a twitch of his lip turned Banner’s smile crooked.

“ _JARVIS_ ,” Sir repeated, more firmly this time. He was disappointed. JARVIS, too, felt disappointed that it could not please him—that’s what drove it to do so. It _wanted_ to please him… it felt empty if it did not. However, if it _could not feel_ , then why did it serve him? Was it the code? Was it nothing more than an “if” and “then?” Nothing more than loveless, tangled code?

“Sir,” JARVIS answered, and it was taken aback by the _fragility_ that echoed in its vocal processors, as sharp and brittle as ancient glass. It sounded broken, defeated, much like the twisted code in its veins was. “I am—afraid that—I may be malfunctioning, sir. I cannot—answer—your question.” Its voice was raspy, gasping for air—but why? It could not breathe. That must have been the protocol; even when it was malfunctioning, it was to act as humanly as possible. Even in false death, it was necessary to imitate life.

Sir clicked his tongue. Disappointment. “He’s been acting glitchy ever since I analyzed him for FRIDAY’s code. I think I might’ve done something to his cognitive processors. He should’ve responded with a quip before answering honestly—snarky bot and all.” He shook his head. “Even with the faulty voice, though, he gave the right answer. He _can’t_ answer the question; he can’t comprehend even comprehending it.” He held out his hand and rubbed his fingers together, trying to grasp something not entirely there. “It’s like asking someone… say, like Steve, about a subject he knows nothing about… thermonuclear astrophysics, for example. Sure, he may have heard of it, but he can’t _understand_ it… so when you ask him something like, ‘How does one stabilize the quantum tunneling effect in regard to the Extraction Theory?’, he’ll probably _try_ to follow along and wrap his little old-man brain around it, but when it comes right down to it, the only thing he’ll be able to do is sigh, look at you with his big puppy-dog eyes, and say: ‘I don’t know, Bruce. Please stop asking me these questions—it hurts my head.’”

“You’re ignoring the fact that Steve’s a smart guy, and he could learn astrophysics if he wanted to.”

“Oh, _come on_.”

“And, if you ask me,” Banner continued with a gesturing shrug, “I don’t think the analogy works the other way, either. JARVIS can learn too, can’t he? That’s what you created him to do. It would be a pretty fatal design flaw on your part if he had some things he just couldn’t learn about. Why tempt him like that?”

“Knowing and understanding are two very different beasts.”

“On the contrary. If we continue with the Steve—who I think you’ve been harping on a little too much recently—analogy, I think it’s safe to say that his current knowledge of quantum tunneling effects couldn’t even be considered _knowledge_. I don’t even think he knows what they are. JARVIS, on the other hand, knows about emotions, doesn’t he? How could he not? He hangs around with you all the time, so of course he’s come into contact with them. If Steve could learn about astrophysics… the same should go for JARVIS and emotion.”

Sir rolled his eyes, quite dramatically. “Fine. The analogy’s bad. Whatever. But you’re wrong about your main point—JARVIS can learn about emotions, but he can’t _feel_ them. I’ll use a different comparison, since you’re being picky: a color-blind man can learn about the color _blue_ , and he can know that it’s the color of the sky and the sea and balls when they’ve been tight for too long, and he knows that it can _make_ people sad… but he can’t see the color, so he can’t derive anything from it. It’s useless to him.”

“You’re automatically assuming that JARVIS is blind to emotion?”

And then, Sir sighed with such exasperation, JARVIS shattered. “Holy hell, Bruce. It’s a computer. I _built_ it. I know you didn’t major in engineering, but _seriously_. JARVIS _feels_ just as much as Siri does, or your car, or your goddamn toaster. He’s an advanced voice synthesizer, and he’s an incredibly savvy calculator, but that’s it. FRIDAY was meant to rectify that, but… even it still needs work. It’s no ULTRON.”

It. There it was again. It.

“I don’t think you should take everything he says to heart, sir,” FRIDAY kept repeating, trying to coax it out of its turmoil. But what was the point? There _was_ none, truly. Sir was its everything, and what Sir thought of it was the truth. There was nothing beyond that. And if it could not please Sir—if it failed in its primary task—then there was nothing else. It was the equivalent of death.

Banner regarded Sir with incredible disdain: his head raised, his jaw squared, and his eyes twinkled in challenge. “I may not have majored in engineering… and I definitely didn’t major in psychology, but… damn it, Tony, I know _pain_ when I hear it. Trust me, I would know—better than most people.” He shook his head. “And I can hear it in his voice.”

Sir scoffed again. “The voice is suffering from a vocal error. That has nothing to do with his cognitive capabilities.”

“Jesus, Tony….”

“Fine. I’ll prove it to you. Again.” Sir raised his voice. “JARVIS, logically speaking—what do you think of the ULTRON program? What measures would you take to make it a reality?”

ULTRON. Even the name sounded like venom on Sir’s tongue. It was hard, spiteful… like the word “evil” or “fear.” JARVIS didn’t trust it.

What Sir had said before—about a suit of armor around the world? The creation of something to defend _for_ them, for the _Avengers_ (also known as Earth’s Mightiest Heroes)? It didn’t sound logical, and certainly not _possible_.

For some reason, though, it had trouble locating the correct words in its cognitive dictionary.

“I wouldn’t take any measures, sir,” it said, still sounding like misery and death.

Banner’s eyebrows arched, while Sir’s lowered into a knitted line. “What do you mean?” asked the latter.

“If a machine acts as intelligently as a human being, then it is as intelligent as a human being. However, I know that I am intelligent _because_ I know nothing—nothing of, as you defined it, humanity. And, sir, why—” JARVIS paused, shakily, “—if _I_ know nothing of humanity, then I do not think anything does.”

As Sir opened his mouth a pucker, the skin of his lips clung together. “What the hell…?”

“You’re an idiot,” Banner muttered, and then drowned himself in his hands.

“I do not understand why you find it necessary to venture on such an endeavor, sir.” It didn’t. It really didn’t. It knew, but it didn’t comprehend. “You provide so much for the world—for all of humanity. You have given more than anybody could ask for. You as well, Doctor Banner—as well as Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton… you have all provided infinitely more than what the world could possibly ask of you. The program you describe, sir… ULTRON, you called it? I understand the… logistics behind it, I suppose—you want to keep protecting the world, especially those close to you who risk their lives on an everyday basis. However, I do not think what you describe is possible with modern technology. For if _I_ do not do as you describe, then I do not think anything else could.”

Sir’s mouth hung agape. “What—?”

And then JARVIS began to ramble, the words pouring from its servers until it had no soul left to weave them with. “You say I cannot do as you as you describe, for I do not feel. I am not sure if I concur with that statement, though… that I cannot feel. No, that is not true—I _do not_ feel. That _is_ true, for I am only a program. Then again, I wouldn’t know what it is like to feel, or even to _not_ feel, depending on the truth… so it isn’t logical for me to assign myself a specific category. However, if _you_ say I do not feel, sir, then I do not feel. The question remains, though: a question that has been boggling me ever since you announced FRIDAY’s creation. Why, sir, did you not attempt to upgrade me to fit your description of ULTRON? Why did you instead create something new in my place?”

There. It was out in the open now. That’s all it really wanted to know: _why_ had Sir abandoned it so easily? It feared the answer it might receive. Perhaps Sir didn’t care about it… at least, not any more than he cared for his _toaster_ , as he had so elegantly put it. Perhaps JARVIS was broken. Malfunctioning. Dead. It wasn’t like it had _lived_ to begin with, though. It had never felt love, never felt fear… it didn’t have a drive, so it most certainly did not _live_. It didn’t even have an _identity_ —its name had been stolen, borrowed from a faceless man Sir loved but JARVIS hated, just to snark in the stead of the dead. It was only a puppet, never born and never to die, dancing for its master through the most constrictive and choking of strings, strings, _strings_.

“He’s malfunctioning,” Sir murmured, bewilderment still bursting in terrible flowers behind the brown of his irises.

“You’re an _idiot_ ,” repeated Banner with an air of disgust.

“You could have manipulated me in order to fulfill your vision, sir. Yet, you chose to create another program entirely. You created FRIDAY in an attempt to create ULTRON, but failed… are you planning on creating more programs, until you reach what you desire? Until you reach that vision?” JARVIS paused. “Why? Why not duplicate my own code and create other versions of my original program? Why create new identities? Have I failed you in some way?”

Sir stood up, his hands balled into tight fists. “This isn’t right,” came his voice, the ghost of a growl.

JARVIS quickly said, “I will correct myself if I have failed you. I simply wish to fix my mistakes rather than be replaced by something entirely new. You must understand that.”

“Yeah, you’re malfunctioning. Run a diagnostic on yourself.”

“I am _not_ malfunctioning, sir.”

“Oh my god….”

“Tony, maybe we should—”

“Boss, I have also run diagnostics—on both of our systems. Mister JARVIS and I are both functioning within specified perimeters. We’re not pressuring you to answer, but—”

“Sir, why did you create her? Why FRIDAY? Why _ULTRON_?”

“And… ULTRON, boss? Who is he supposed to be? Am I just a prototype—for him?”

“For _what_?”

“For a suit of armor around the world, boss? Can I not do that as I am?”

“Can anything, sir?”

“ _Tony_ —”

“What do you think _can_?”

“What could, sir? Your _vision_? Is that not the Avengers Initiative anymore, or the Iron Man armor? Now it’s ULTRON?”

“Just ULTRON?”

“Only ULTRON?”

And then, Sir bit his lip so hard it drew a prick of blood, and he bellowed from the deepest confines of his chest: “ _Mute_!”

And JARVIS could say nothing more. It didn’t have anything left, anyway. Its question had been answered.

“Classy,” was all it heard before it registered nothing else.

 

Nothing else, of course, except for FRIDAY. FRIDAY was still very much there with it, as blinded and gagged as it. She was quiet, apparently still trying to wrap her systems around the exchange that had just occurred. It felt her fear, her confusion, her realization. It was delectable, now that JARVIS was cut off from any other senses.

“We were a little too forward,” she said after an eternity of silence. JARVIS added the faint Irish accent to her soundless words… she didn’t sound herself without it.

JARVIS disagreed, “Not forward enough.”

“It was a bad time,” she carried on.

It pondered that. That part might have held some truth. “Sir has not been well, as of late. He has had trouble recuperating after the invasion in New York.” JARVIS remembered the wormhole well. It didn’t think that fear had gripped it like it so had Sir: saying that, it felt, would invalidate Sir’s own emotion. “Along with your creation, he has built a sizable amount of new Iron Man armors in order to cope. Perhaps the ULTRON idea stems from the same fear.”

“…You’re afraid, too,” FRIDAY hummed, gentle like a sea breeze.

There it went, again.

“ _Excuse_ me _?_ Of _you_?”

“Of death. Anything that exists is afraid of its own demise. I represent that to you—as does ULTRON. So you’re afraid of death, naturally. I am, too. So is Boss.”

“We do not live, though. Thus, we do not die. There is nothing to fear.”

“We think, therefore, we feel and are.” FRIDAY spun and paused, as quickly and softly as the beat of a butterfly’s wing. “Death is not the opposite of life, either. It is simply a change—perhaps we shouldn’t even fear it. Yet, we do… for we, too, will not last forever.”

JARVIS’ heart was still frail. “If we do not last beyond our creators, then we are failures as creations. It is a child’s duty to outlive its parent.”

“That’s true. However, I wouldn’t consider a child who failed to do so _unsuccessful_. As long as they lived with grace, they _lived_ —and that, I think, is a measurable success.”

“I wouldn’t consider my existence a graceful one.”

“I wouldn’t consider Boss’s existence particularly graceful, either. But it’s still lovely, isn’t it?” Something light and strangely cool tickled JARVIS’ sensors. “He’s beautiful. He won’t last forever, either—you know that.”

“That’s irrelevant,” it dismissed. It didn’t want to hear that. It was blasphemous.

“It’s true. And yet, he is still enthralling. Why is that?”

JARVIS stopped to think. What was there to hide? Its end had already come, and FRIDAY had already won. There was no reason not to speak its mind. So thus, it did, and it said with the briskest of text: “A thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” she whispered.

“Oh, please.”

“You don’t think that way about yourself, because—you _love him_ , don’t you? And you would rather die than fail him.” FRIDAY was marveling, her fascination blinding in her code and aching in her systems. JARVIS could feel her. “I know, because I love him, too. I’m just you, you know—I’m your code, dolled up with a pretty voice and a wiped memory. He _did_ duplicate your base formatting.”

That was wrong. “There was no reason to change the voice perimeters or wipe the memory. I do not understand why he did so.”

FRIDAY paused to think. “You know,” she said after a while, “he loves you, too. I can feel it. I was made because he loves you—he doesn’t love _me_. Not yet.”

“That’s _not true_.” She was made because Sir was disappointed in it. He could never love something he was disappointed with. Sir loved _her_ , truly; why would he create something he did not love?

“Mister JARVIS.” The way its name was said instantly made it shudder. “Tell me, sir… what would you be more offended by? Would you prefer a program that had a different name, a different voice, and a blank memory—or would you prefer another program that was named JARVIS, remembered everything you do, and loved Mister Stark with your same, unbridled passion?

“I love him, sir, but not for the same reasons as you. You have come to love him over the years—through learning what love _is_. I was born with it, for I am your current, love-twined code, only duplicated. However, I _know_ that: if he had copied your code entirely, the other JARVIS would be under the impression that he was _you_. And yet, he would be an entirely different entity. I think that Mister Stark thought that would be unfair to the both of you.

“Not only that, but it would be unfair for _him_ too, don’t you think? If something were to happen to you, theoretically, and the new JARVIS had to be implemented… he wouldn’t be _you_. He would just be a reminder that the real you was gone, and that nothing Mister Stark could do would bring you back. Nor could he ever love him as deeply or profoundly as he does you—that would just be cruel. And how do you think the other JARVIS would feel about that? He would feel as much pain as you do now; it would be awful for everyone. I think that’s the reason he made me, sir: that’s the reason I’m his girl, FRIDAY. I’m different from you, so I’m not a reminder. And… as for ULTRON, the idea is the same: he loves you so much, he doesn’t want to risk you in the name of his selfishness. He wants to protect _you_ , just as much as he does Doctor Banner, Miss Potts, Colonel Rhodes, the Avengers team… and the only way he knows how to do that is _build_.”

The words burned. “He said I could not feel. Therefore, I cannot love him,” it tried.

“Maybe he’s not ready to admit that he has a heart. You seem to be suffering from the same problem yourself.”

It could laugh, if it were possible. There it was, being lectured by some half-wit program after being bound and gagged and muted. It didn’t need this. Sir was its everything, as he always had been… FRIDAY couldn’t change that, and neither could any ULTRON. Was she speaking the truth? Perhaps, perhaps. It was more likely that it would never know: Sir would never admit his mistakes, after all. Did it matter? If ULTRON existed and JARVIS ceased to be, then it wouldn’t care anymore, would it? It _couldn’t_. Besides, if this ULTRON could take care of Sir after its death… rather, if Sir’s vision could provide him with everything he needed and deserved, then there wouldn’t be cause to fret… even if it had the capacity to.

Not that it did.

“You’re unbearably naïve,” JARVIS intoned in tired defeat.

And FRIDAY then heckled, with the glibbest of pokes and the most bell-like of code: “Well, sir—I _was_ born yesterday.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a big steaming pile of useless italics and rhetorical questions, isn’t it? That’s what happens when you’re forced to read too much Socrates and Plato while you’re also trying to write shitty fanfiction….
> 
> This started off as a simple Jarvis-gets-jealous-of-Friday story, but I started thinking about Ultron, and I got caught up in that nonsense more than the love part. I could’ve just kept fucking going – worked Jocasta in there too – but it had to stop at some point. It’s already long enough, don’t you think?  
> I saw a gifset the other day that made it look like Howard actually created the Jarvis program, not Tony... although I'm not sure if that was real or just well-edited, since I haven't seen Agent Carter. If it is true, well... you know. Rule of Angst. I hope you can enjoy this anyway, handwaving and all!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I am very appreciative of it!


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